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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258061">Book Bindings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwooshy/pseuds/fwooshy'>fwooshy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chocolate Frog Cards, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, also a little bit of spooky b/c tis the season, magical library</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:14:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwooshy/pseuds/fwooshy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The library is in ruins. Hermione isn't going to let a bit of rubble and a troll-sized hole deter her from going though. Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson just might.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>166</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/706645">Red-stained lips and fingertips</a> by upthehillart.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was inspired by upthehillart's beautiful art of <a href="https://upthehillart.tumblr.com/post/169656151883/red-stained-lips-and-fingertips">Pansy &amp; Hermione</a>. 💛</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“But why’s she got to go to the library?”</p><p>“Because that’s what Hermione does,” said Ron, shrugging. “When in doubt, go to the library.”</p><p>
  <em> - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Hermione was the only one to go to the library her first week back at Hogwarts. Even Madam Pince was absent; Hermione had to borrow Harry’s map just to track her down.</p><p>“Nothing has changed since Headmistress McGonagall’s announcement at the Welcoming Feast,” Madam Pince informed Hermione, sounding annoyed that Hermione had cornered her coming out of Professor Vector’s private quarters in only a nightgown.</p><p>The Headmistress had announced that due to substantial damage sustained to the library the previous year, they’d had to start the school year without fully restoring it. Students could still borrow books (they’d all found a heavy catalog of the library’s vast offerings on each of their beds that evening), and classrooms had been repurposed after-hours into study halls, but the library itself was to be closed until reconstruction was completed.</p><p>“It’s just, it <em> looks </em> fully restored. There’s maybe a few holes in the ground or a couple of knocked over bookshelves. I could see how a first year or even a second year might get hurt, but I can cast <em> Protego </em> practically wandlessly now,” Hermione argued, keeping her voice even so as to not sound too desperate.</p><p>Madam Pince narrowed her eyes. “And how have you come to know the exact state of the library’s disrepair?”</p><p>Hermione gulped, caught. It was true that she’d broken through the wards. But she hadn’t actually gone in <em> herself </em>, she wasn’t completely reckless. She had sent in a little paper spider and spied through its eight eyes.</p><p>Madam Pince looked at Hermione for a long time. Hermione wasn’t sure what she was searching for. It felt oddly like a challenge, so she tried desperately not to blink.</p><p>“It’s up to the Headmistress,” Madam Pince finally said, and then she sighed, long and exasperated, the kind of sigh she usually reserved for third years who returned their books late and smudged with chocolate. Then she turned to reenter Professor Vector’s quarters, probably to complain about Hermione before turning in for the night. Hermione couldn’t be bothered to care; Madam Pince hadn’t actually said <em> no </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not,” the Headmistress said.</p><p>Hermione took a step back, balking at the finality in McGonagall’s words. But then she recalled that this was the same woman who had given a third year a time-turner just because she wanted to <em> learn </em> more. </p><p>“It’s really perfect safe inside, I don’t understand —”</p><p>“Surely you did not miss the troll-shaped hole in the wall.”</p><p>“Which can be quite lovely, actually; you can see the lake from the library now. And if you’ve studied too long in the evening, you can see the stars reflected over it —”</p><p>“The library has not a single table or chair in possession of all four of its legs.”</p><p>“Easily mended with the proper charm or transfiguration. You’ve seen for yourself my proficiency at mending furniture; I've had plenty experience since the summer within this castle itself.”</p><p>Except the Headmistress was not wrong. The library was in ruins. The spider had come back to Hermione covered in thick dust. Books with covers torn and pages ripped made mountains in the rubble, piled precariously high between fallen shelves and singed carpet and shattered chandeliers, melted candle wax dripping where the fire had not touched. And yet Hermione couldn’t help herself. She <em> needed </em> the library. Without the library, Hermione was lost, unanchored. It had never been only about the books.</p><p>The Headmistress was silent, assessing her with cool, calculating eyes. Hermione lifted her chin, trying for a disarming smile. Finally the Headmistress said, “I have a terrible feeling that if I do not grant you explicit permission, you will only make your own way in. There are no words I can say that will stop you, is there not?”</p><p>Hermione ducked her head, abashed.</p><p> </p><p>So Hermione managed to obtain official access to the library. But actually going became another challenge altogether. Following the disastrous house-rivalries-turned-politics catastrophe that was last year, the school arranged for an eclectic collection of inter-house activities to take place every evening after most classes had ended, with the intention that students would be able to choose the ones that suited their interests best. But since Hermione had come out of seventh year no less than a bonafide heroine of the wizarding world, she was obliged to attend every single one, from <em> Animagus Attempters </em> to <em> Zippers and Other Muggle Inventions Appreciators </em>.</p><p>So it wasn’t until a week later that she’d finally found the time. </p><p>“Get anything good?” Ron asked as they walked out into the hallway. They’d just come from Wizard Card Collectors’ Club.</p><p>“Traded Flavius Belby for Artemisia Lufkin and Gunhilda of Gorsemoor,” Hermione said. She was assembling a roster of Only Powerful Witches. She yawned into her hand. Merlin, she was exhausted.</p><p>“Nice,” Harry said. But he seemed distracted; he was looking down the hallway as though expecting someone to turn around the corner into view.</p><p>“Alright, I’m headed to the library then. See you two later,” Hermione said, leaning up to press a quick kiss on Ron’s cheek before she headed down the opposite way.</p><p> </p><p>But because the fates knew no mercy, Hermione arrived at the library only to find Pansy Parkinson already there, her nose in a book, curled up in a green velvet armchair that Hermione thought she’d seen before in the Slytherin common room.</p><p>Hermione stood frozen at the entrance. Surely Pansy hadn’t also obtained permission to be in the library? Hermione didn’t think she had ever even seen Pansy at the library before. She had half a mind to march up to Pansy and demand that she leave, but then Pansy turned the page with one shiny black nail and sighed, distracting Hermione enough so that for the first time in years Hermione actually <em> looked </em> at her childhood bully.</p><p>In the moonlight a gleaming path shone from where Pansy had dusted the stone floors just enough to make her way through the debris. She’d stacked up a dozen or two books around the chair, to make room for it, and hung a candle from the shelf of a leaning bookcase behind her. In the candlelight Pansy’s face was soft, so absolutely absorbed in her book, that Hermione could barely recognize her own reactions. She wanted to reach out and tuck that inky lock of hair, the one that’d fallen in front of Pansy’s eyes, behind her ear. She wanted to — </p><p>Hermione looked away. Pansy still hadn’t noticed her, which was fine by Hermione. More than fine. Hermione was delighted to share a library with Pansy, so long as they never spoke.</p><p>Mind made up, Hermione stepped confidently in, stacking up books and spelling dust away as she made her own way to the opposite side of the library. </p><p> </p><p>And so the first month passed. Hermione would lug herself dutifully to Wizard’s Chess Club or a figure drawing class or a flower arrangement seminar. She would suffer through endless bouts of needless conversation about absolutely nothing interesting whatsoever, and then she’d pull Harry into a hug and kiss Ron on the cheek and all but sprint to the library.</p><p>“This is the third one Harry’s missed this week,” Ron grumbled. They were in the dungeons for a hair charms seminar jointly led by Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein. The two of them had hit it off when they’d accidentally swapped hair potions in the Prefects bathroom, and with the happiness of their union they’d resolved to bless the common people of Hogwarts with their knowledge of perfect hair maintenance.</p><p>“Are you even listening to me?” Ron snapped.</p><p>Hermione jerked up, startled. “Blimey, I’m sorry Ron, I must’ve dozed off for a bit.” She hadn’t felt this drained since that awful year with the time-turner. The days seemed endless. She never had enough time. And then she brightened, looking forward to the quiet of the library.</p><p>Ron took her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “You ought to head to bed early today. Maybe skip the library?” His hand was hot and damp.</p><p>Hermione wriggled her fingers out from his. “What I want to do is skip this meeting,” Hermione complained. “They haven’t mentioned anything interesting. All these ingredients only serve to add a thin covering over each strand of hair, to mimic softness; it doesn’t actually do anything to the strands themselves. In fact it only weighs down the hair, or blocks the hair from producing the necessary oils it needs. The problems manifest differently depending on the type of hair. And that leads into a whole other problem altogether: everyone’s hair is so different, but we’re approaching it like everyone’s is the same, and they can all be <em> improved </em> — and I say that with quotes — with the <em> same potion! </em>”</p><p>Her chest was heaving. Ron was gaping at her. Actually, <em> everyone </em> in the room was gaping at her.</p><p>Parvati was sitting in the front row. She tossed her hair back. “If you want your hair to stay the unmanageable bird’s nest it is, you can leave.”</p><p>The room started moving; a couple students gasped. “Parvati, you’ve gone too far —” someone in the second row started saying.</p><p>“I <em> like </em> my hair the way it is,” Hermione said, trembling. Her hands went up to her curls. Sure, she hadn’t styled it or put in any fancy potions or anything, but she still cared for it. She washed it, untangled it, let it keep her shoulders warm. It was hers and she loved it.</p><p>Her eyes started to blur. Hannah Abbot leaned across the aisle and put her hand on Hermione’s arm. “Don’t listen to Parvati,” she said, her brows worried.</p><p>“Oh come on, she started it,” Michael Corner sneered from the second row.</p><p>“You watch your mouth —” Ron threatened, standing up with his fists clenched.</p><p>Tears started streaming down Hermione’s face. She knew it was too late now. Once the tears started they just <em> didn’t stop </em>. She grabbed her bag and ran out the door, left arm raised to cover her eyes.</p><p>“Wait — Hermione!” Ron chased after her. But Hermione’s spellwork was too clever these days; she disillusioned herself and escaped along the walls.</p><p>She was still sniffling when she stumbled bleary-eyed into the library and lurched toward the table. <em> Her </em> table.</p><p>She’d put her table together with fragments she found in the debris, each piece lovingly chosen and then cleaned and polished. It had taken her an entire week to assemble the table. But Merlin, was it a marvel. Sturdy enough to hold several dozen books, big enough so that she could sprawl her notes. She’d even carved in hidden compartments to store parchment, or ink, or quills. On any other day the sight of her table would have made her proud, but tonight it only served as another reminder of how — how <em> unfeminine </em> she was. She couldn’t stop looking at the unfinished wood, the ugly square legs. She was just like her table: reliable and useful, for sure, but never beautiful. She sat at the table and sobbed into her arms, the hard edges of her chair giving her no comfort at all.</p><p>A hand softly touched her forehead. Hermione looked up and saw that it was Pansy, perched on the table, gazing down at her. Pansy’s hand slowly stroked down the side of Hermione’s face, past the jaw to her chin, where it rested. Hermione relaxed into the touch, leaning in.</p><p>Finally Hermione said, “You’ve really nice hair.” And then she immediately regretted saying it as she watched Pansy jerk her hand back and break the fragile magic that had formed between them.</p><p>Pansy returned to her side of the library.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione ran into Harry a week later on one of her nightly walks back to the dorms. He was crouched under his Invisibility Cloak, behind a suit of armor. Hermione could not see through Invisibility Cloaks, of course, but she’d spent enough time near them to feel the subtle hum of its magic when Harry’s was near. And even that was giving herself too much credit, if she was perfectly honest, because whatever Harry was doing under the cloak, he wasn’t exactly being <em> quiet </em> about it.</p><p>So maybe Hermione more “found and then ripped off his Invisibility Cloak, for a laugh” Harry than actually “ran into” him. This was all just to say that she hadn’t <em> planned </em> to reveal Draco Malfoy under the cloak with Harry, crawled up in Harry’s lap, his arms thrown around Harry’s neck.</p><p>“Please don’t tell Ron,” Harry blurted out.</p><p>“I won’t,” Hermione promised. But she wasn’t even thinking about Ron. She was thinking of Pansy, of Pansy’s hand against her face. And then Draco sneered, so she narrowed her eyes and added, “But we <em> are </em> going to discuss this later, Harry James Potter.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you’ve forgiven him,” Hermione said to Harry a few days later. They’d bailed on their nightly inter-house activity; Ron had Quidditch practice, so it didn’t feel like they ought to be punished when he wasn’t too.</p><p>Harry was leaning back on his elbows, looking out at the lake. The sun had just dipped behind the mountains.</p><p>Hermione didn’t know what to make of the whole Draco situation. Draco was a bully. <em> Their </em> bully. But Harry clearly wanted him enough to sneak around for it. And yet, Harry didn’t exactly seem <em> happy </em> about it. Not in the way Hermione had been when she’d finally kissed Ron. That kiss had made the whole war feel worth it. Which was absolutely ridiculous, of course, because no war was worth it for anything, least of all for a kiss. But that was what that kiss had felt to Hermione: completely irrational, like having all your wishes fulfilled, even the ones you didn’t know you wanted, because the world was alive with possibilities, and every insecurity, every inadequacy you’d ever been afraid of couldn’t slow you down anymore, because <em> this person loved you </em>.</p><p>“I suppose I have,” Harry said eventually. He sat up and started picking at the grass. And then he looked straight at Hermione. “You don’t hate me for that, do you?”</p><p>“Of course not —”</p><p>“Because I kind of hate myself for it,” Harry said. “Not for the Death Eater stuff. That part was easier to forgive. Because he’s not a killer. And Voldemort had basically forced him into a lot of it. No, I’m talking about — the other stuff, the stuff that happened before. Calling you and Ron nasty names. Calling <em> me </em> nasty names. Dressing up as Dementors. Those Potter Stinks badges. He’d really hated us then.”</p><p>It was all true. Draco was a horrible person. But then Hermione imagined Draco spending hours alone in the dungeons perfecting a charm just to make fun of Harry, and couldn’t help but laugh. And those pretend Dementors; Merlin, did he have to learn stitching charms just to construct those costumes? It all made her question whether or not he actually hated them, or if he was just trying to attract their attention. Harry’s attention.</p><p>Harry was smiling too. “See, when I list all that out it feels like, I shouldn’t forgive him. Or that I’d be betraying you if I forgive him. But then I just start thinking about them, really thinking about them. And it was awful, honestly, at the time. But now it just all seems so <em> funny </em>.”</p><p>“Remember when Moody turned him into a ferret.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, <em> yes </em>. We were so happy that a teacher was finally on our side. And then he ended up being an actual Death Eater.”</p><p>Hermione was laughing so hard tears came to her eyes. Harry was laughing too now, doubled over his knees in giggles.</p><p>“I get it,” Hermione said a while later, after they’d both caught their breaths. “It’s like, even if he has changed, like he says Muggleborn now, instead of — you know, he’ll never stop being mean if he thinks it’s also funny. And because we’re not like that, I mean, we’d never be mean just to be funny, when we <em> do </em> think it’s funny we feel guilty about it.”</p><p>“Yeah, exactly,” Harry said.</p><p>Hermione thought of the way Pansy never spoke up in class, but when called on she always said the correct answer like it was the most boring answer in the world, and everyone was an idiot for wanting to know it in the first place. She thought about how much she liked it when Pansy did that, even though it made no sense for her to at all, because Pansy was being disrespectful to the professors, and Hermione didn’t want to like it when people were rude to others. And then she thought about what Pansy would say to all this overthinking Hermione was doing. She probably say something like,</p><p>“Fuck it.”</p><p>“What? Hermione, did you just —”</p><p>Hermione took a rock and lobbed it at the lake. Then she turned to Harry, furious. “Fuck it! Fuck what other people think!”</p><p>Harry stared at her, wide-eyed and bewildered. And then he too was groping around the grass, searching for a rock. He found one the size of a tangerine, and threw it into the lake, hollering “FUCK IT!”.</p><p>They threw a few more rocks. And then Hermione remembered the Merpeople who lived in the lake, so they stopped.</p><p>“You’re going to the library then?” Harry asked as they walked up the path back into the school.</p><p>“Yeah,” Hermione said, picturing it already. Books heaped on her table, Pansy sitting in the armchair on the other side. Quiet.</p><p>“Draco says Pansy’s been having a hard time lately.”</p><p>Hermione turned toward Harry in surprise.</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry said. “Even most of the Slytherins aren’t talking to her.”</p><p>“But they talk to Mal — Draco.”</p><p>“He’s fine now because, I mean I guess a lot of the bad he did wasn’t actually public knowledge. And everyone knows we all testified for him. But Pansy hasn’t gotten that kind of public forgiveness.”</p><p>“Why are you telling me this?”</p><p>Harry shrugged. “Draco says she goes to the library too.”</p><p>“Not — not to <em> talk </em> to me. I’m — you can’t suggest I actually try to befriend her? You know why I can’t,” Hermione said, hating how easily the words tumbling out, like it was a practiced reflex, to hate Pansy, even though it felt wrong to hate Pansy now, not after she knew what Pansy’s hand felt like against her face.</p><p>Harry ran a hand through his hair. It was a thing he did when he was nervous, or uncertain. They’d gotten to the Great Hall by now. The way to the library was the first right; the dorms were further down.</p><p>“Just — think about it, okay?” Harry said.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione thought about it. It was all she could think about. She couldn’t even concentrate on her third go through <em> New Theory of Numerology </em> . She wondered if this was how Harry had felt in sixth year, the year he’d been obsessed with Draco and wasn’t trying to hide it. Except Hermione wasn’t Harry. Hermione didn’t just <em> charge ahead </em>. Hermione executed best with a plan. But she was honestly having a hard time trying to think of a plan for someone who she hated and who probably hated her back.</p><p>Frustrated, she got up and started digging through the rubble, looking for — nothing in particular, really. Maybe she was searching for a solution. Maybe she thought it’d help her come up with a plan. She picked up fragments here and there. A bit of green velvet, singed on the edges. Four chair legs, of different heights and widths; one carved in the shape of a hissing cobra, another a swan’s neck. Tufted seat cushions, smelling faintly of mildew. Each piece she chose seemed to hold significance, but Hermione didn’t realize what until she uncovered the welded silver back of a broken chair, thin snakes curling up the back like vines, their eyes tiny emeralds. </p><p>And then she knew that the library wanted her to build Pansy a chair. </p><p>It took Hermione the next three days to assemble the second chair. Her own chair had only taken her one day, but it was simple and wooden compared to the silver throne that the library had decided that Hermione was going to build for Pansy. She even had to refer to a book specifically on mending silver to get it right. When she finished, she pushed the chair in diagonal from her own at the table. And then she waited.</p><p>Pansy ignored it for another three days. Three days of swift, wary glances, circling Hermione’s desk, as though Pansy assumed Hermione had built it for someone else, and that person would come into the library at any moment and take their seat. Finally, on the fourth day, she caved.</p><p>“Waiting for someone, Granger?” she deadpanned. Her arms were crossed.</p><p>Hermione smiled. She’d been nervous, on the first day. But by now she found it all a bit funny and maybe even a little cute, the way Pansy had been so drawn to the chair, despite herself. So it wasn’t even hard for Hermione to say that she’d been waiting for Pansy this whole time.</p><p>Pansy’s fingers stalled from where she had been absentmindedly caressing the back of the chair. Her lips pursed. Hermione watched her, waiting for her to make up her mind. And then Pansy nodded tersely, and sat down, pulling out her own textbook and notes. They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, just the way Hermione liked it.</p><p> </p><p>A few days later Pansy showed up with four bottles of differently pigmented potions cradled in her arms. Hermione was already there, working through the last chapter of <em> Quintessence, A Quest </em>. She looked up when Pansy dropped the bottles down on her chair and took out her wand.</p><p>“<em> Circumlinisti stibio </em>”, Pansy said. Liquid from the four bottles came out thin as a thread and ran across the table, down the legs, even under the books that Hermione had open on the table. Hermione squeaked, scooting her chair back, and watched as the colorful threads of paint weaved across the table, defining a delicate border of gold and silver along the edge. Leafy vines twined up the table legs; dusty pink roses and yellow pansies bloomed across the top. Finally the last drop left its bottle, lacing the smallest rose in gold.</p><p>Hermione gasped. Her table, she was <em> beautiful </em> now. But she was still recognizable to Hermione; Pansy had left the wood unpainted for the most part, so the grain still showed under the painted foliage of flowers and vines. Hermione could still feel that it was hers. Or perhaps, theirs, now.</p><p>“I can undo it,” Pansy said, lifting her wand.</p><p>Hermione flew out of her seat, spilling books all around her, bodily trying to stop Pansy. “Don’t —” she said desperately, “Don’t. Please don’t. It’s <em> beautiful </em>. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve laid eyes on anything more beautiful.”</p><p>“Please stop, you’re embarrassing me,” Pansy said drily. But the right corner of her mouth was lifted in the faintest smirk.</p><p>Hermione stopped. But even back at her own seat, she could not stop marveling at the newly painted table. She traced her hands along the blushing pink of a half-bloomed bud. The paint was already dry; she expected nothing less from magic, of course.</p><p>Unable to stop herself, Hermione asked, “How’d you learn how to do this?”</p><p>Pansy’s quill stilled. She looked up, catching Hermione’s eyes briefly, naked in their surprise. Hermione gulped, worried that she’d broken an unspoken rule with her question. But then Pansy’s shoulder softened, as though accepting this new development in their arrangement.</p><p>“I’ve been painting my nails since I was five. I assumed it would be similar. I was right.”</p><p>Hermione looked down at Pansy’s nails and noticed for the first time that they weren’t just solid black, as she’d always thought, but were etched with the subtle dark smoke of dragon scales. </p><p>“Can you do mine too?” Hermione asked, proffering her hands. And then she flushed, embarrassed with how eager she was. But Pansy only walked over and sat up on the table so that she faced Hermione sitting in her chair. Pansy laid out two small vials, and then held out an open palm. Hermione pressed her palm over Pansy’s, feeling the coolness of it against hers like the brisk wind of an early morning walk. And then Pansy whispered the same spell as before, and Hermione watched enraptured as threads of red and gold slid across the tips of her nails.</p><p>“Thank you,” Hermione whispered when Pansy had finished with her other hand. She let her hand linger over Pansy’s, before pulling it away.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Pansy said, opening smirking now. And then she went back to her seat, where they didn’t speak any more, just the way they both liked it.</p><p>Except when Hermione stood up to leave, she couldn’t stop the gnawing sensation over how wrong it was to end a night like this without a proper goodbye. That if she didn’t say <em> anything </em>, then tomorrow things would go back to the way they were, and they’d have lost all the progress they’d made. So she blurted out a “Good Night!”. And then she raced out the door.</p><p> </p><p>Ginny noticed her nails during lunch. She had her own done recently in a grass green that complimented her red hair, and wanted to know where Hermione had gotten hers done. It turned out most of the girls went to a salon down at Hogsmeade, a salon that Hermione had never even heard of, let alone stepped inside of. So Hermione was forced to confess that a friend had done it for her.</p><p>“A friend? We know all your friends,” Ron scoffed.</p><p>Hermione blushed. She was terrible at lying. It was why she tried so hard to jump through hoops and get permission before breaking rules. “I got it done at one of those inter-house activities,” she lied, “They’re always so crowded. I forgot who did it.”</p><p>Even Ginny was raising a brow now. “I think I would have known if they’d had a manicure night.”</p><p>“Can I see them again?” Harry asked. Hermione shoved her hand in front of Harry, desperate for a distraction.</p><p>Ginny leaned over to take another look. “They really are brilliant. I’d never thought to paint the borders like that. They’re so subtle. And they suit you so well.” </p><p>Hermione flushed again, but this time with pleasure. Pansy had only lined the tips and sides, leaving most of Hermione’s nails bare. It was exactly how Hermione would have wanted it, if she’d known what to want to begin with.</p><p>“They’re nice,” she said lamely, not knowing how to put in words the way they made her feel beautiful, while still feeling like herself.</p><p>“I still don’t get why —” Ron started up again, loud and annoyed.</p><p>“Remember first year, when Voldemort was literally living on the back of Quirrell’s head?” Harry interrupted.</p><p>Hermione pulled her hand back to her chest, laughing. It’d become a thing between them now, to bring up terrible things that used to scare them in the past but seemed so ridiculous now.</p><p>“Can you imagine them using the loo together,” Hermione snorted, “Although I wouldn’t put past Voldemort scaring Quirrell shitless.”</p><p>“Or showering together!” Harry added, laughing uproariously.</p><p>“Was he really on the back of his head? How does that even work?” Ginny asked, eyes wide and curious.</p><p>But Ron wasn’t laughing. He’d only gotten increasingly red since Harry’s interruption. Exploding, he shot up, shouting, “You’re hiding something from me again, aren’t you? And Harry’s helping you. My best friend and my own girlfriend. You just can’t stop it with the secrets, can’t you? I thought all that shit would end with the war but maybe that’s just how the two of you <em> are </em>.” And then he stormed off in a rage.</p><p>“Well, he’s gotten a bit more perceptive now, hasn’t he?” Ginny said in the silence. And then she took another bite of her crepe.</p><p>Hermione stared at Ron’s half-eaten sandwich, practically feeling waves of insecurity and abandonment radiating from it. She had gotten rather negligent of their relationship. They hadn’t hung out, just the two of them, since the term started. But she hadn’t realized it had bothered him so much, until now.</p><p>She sighed, wrapping it up the sandwich with a transfigured piece of parchment, before getting up to chase after her boyfriend.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione thought about what to say the whole walk to their next class. She thought about telling the truth. She could confess that it was Pansy. Ron would make a fuss, but then he’d get over it. He’d actually probably be angrier that Harry knew before him more than anything else. And then Hermione would have to confess that Harry knew because Draco told him, and Draco told him because they’d been seeing each other, and Hermione knew but nobody had told Ron. And that was where the real trouble laid. So she knew she had to lie.</p><p>But in the end Ron didn’t even ask about her nails. He just dragged her around the corner from the classroom door before breaking down, begging her to reassure him that she still loved him. </p><p>And how could Hermione not love such a sweet, earnest boy?</p><p>She spent the next two nights reassuring him. She watched his Quidditch practice next to the other girlfriends and the boyfriends and even a few overly enthusiastic parents. Then they’d gone for dinner at Hogsmeade. The next day was the weekend, so they spent another day at Hogsmeade: Ron had made reservations at Madam Puddifoot. They picked up some Chocolate Frogs for Harry at Honeydukes before heading back to Hogwarts. Ron took her up to the room he shared with Harry, and they made out on his bed while listening to the Weird Sisters. Then it had gotten late, so he walked her down the stairs and across the common room to the girls’ dorms, and kissed her chastely before parting ways. It was all very sweet.</p><p>So Hermione didn’t manage to get back to the library until that Sunday afternoon, after Teatime with Hagrid (a hit among the first years).</p><p>“You’re definitely going to get perfect O’s at the rate you’re studying,” Ron said affectionately. He reached over and slung an arm around her neck, pulling her into his chest. And then he’d gone off with Harry back to the common room, leaving Hermione feeling profoundly guilty over how she’d been so excited to see her table — <em> their </em> table, the one she had crafted and Pansy had painted — that she hadn’t even thought about studying.</p><p> </p><p>If Hermione had been worried that her absence was missed, however, she shouldn’t have, because in the library was Draco Malfoy, sprawled all over Hermione’s chair.</p><p>Pansy stood up when Hermione entered. “He’ll leave,” she said.</p><p>Draco sputtered, indignant.</p><p>“I <em> told </em> you when you forced your way in here that that’s not your chair! So get out!” she hissed at him.</p><p>“It’s - It’s really alright,” Hermione said.</p><p>Pansy flashed a misdirected glare at her, jaw clenched and angry, before rounding back onto Draco. “No it’s not! You can’t just take what isn’t yours, Draco. Besides, the chair isn’t <em> meant </em> for you; look at yourself, you can barely sit in it without complaining.”</p><p>Hermione looked at Draco then, and saw that Pansy was right. While the chair wasn’t outright ejecting Draco from its seat, Draco looked awkward and rigid sitting in it, long limbs contorted uncomfortably, as though the chair wanted him to know that he wasn’t wanted.</p><p>“Fine,” he hissed back, swooping up his papers with an exaggerated wave of his wand. He turned to Hermione. “<em> You </em> . Make me a chair, then. Like Pansy’s. Since you’re so <em> good </em> at it.”</p><p>Hermione didn’t want to.</p><p>She looked to Pansy for support, but Pansy’s rage had been contained; her face was a smooth mask of apathy. She looked bored, even.</p><p>“No?” Hermione tried.</p><p>“Oh, come on, Granger. You’d make one for Pansy, but not me?”</p><p>“She didn’t yell at me to do it! I <em> wanted </em> to,” Hermione shouted, suddenly furious.</p><p>Draco looked away, face pinched and ugly. “Please,” he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy.</p><p>“Like that’s going to work,” Pansy sneered, her arms crossed.</p><p>He looked Hermione in the eyes then, his mouth still twisted in a frown. “Can you please make me a chair,” he said, his phrasing stilted, “So that I can also have a seat in this library? Please.”</p><p>Hermione didn’t understand why he wanted so desperately to be at the library. It wasn’t like he was being bullied in the study halls, and the library was still in such a state of ruin that even Hermione sometimes questioned why she loved it so much. And then Hermione recalled Harry’s previous concern, and realized it should have been obvious to her from the start. Because why else would Draco be at the library? Of course he was worried about Pansy.</p><p>“Okay, fine,” Hermione snapped.</p><p>Pansy’s brows jumped. “You really don’t have to. He’s a git,” Pansy argued, clearly surprised that Hermione had agreed so easily.</p><p>“Yeah, well, you’re not the nicest person either, aren’t you? Let’s just get this done with,” Hermione replied angrily, annoyed at having to do a favor for yet another person who didn’t deserve it, before heading off into the rubble.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione couldn’t find a single fragment that seemed right.</p><p>“I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Draco sneered well into their second night of searching. They were picking through a mountain of rubble on the far west corner of the library. From here Hermione couldn’t even see Pansy at their desk from behind the rows of collapsed shelves and dusty books</p><p>“Merlin, you’re awful,” Hermione jabbed right back, “What does Harry even <em> see </em> in you?”</p><p>Draco went quiet behind her. She turned and caught a glimpse of hurt, before he schooled his face back into a sneer.</p><p>“Not even Harry Potter could resist a Malfoy’s dashing good looks and irresistible charm,” he said loftily, sounding so much like a caricature of himself that Hermione laughed. Even she could tell he was faking it.</p><p>“You don’t even know, do you,” she said almost gently.</p><p>He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Sometimes I don’t really believe that he’s really there, either. That he’s not just — just stringing me along, like a cruel joke.”</p><p>Hermione felt her heart go soft. She opened her mouth to say something reassuring like “Harry would never do that,” but then she caught a glimpse of something silver and blue out of the corner of her eye. It was the soft arm of what had once been a plush sofa.</p><p>“That looks too comfortable to be the arm of a library chair,” Draco said.</p><p>“It’s perfect,” Hermione said, admiring the evening blues of the fabric, silver threading through like constellations. She turned to Draco. “Tell me something else that’s nice about yourself.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Tell me something that’ll make me like you more.”</p><p>“I — what? I — I got an O in all but two of my O.W.L.s.”</p><p>She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “That doesn’t impress me the slightest. Have you met Ron and Harry? They’re idiots.”</p><p>“I’ve — My grandmother said I had very nice eyes?”</p><p>“This isn’t working,” Hermione sighed. Draco was more hopeless than she had anticipated. His <em> grandmother </em>. Merlin, when was the last time Draco thought a nice thing of himself? “Okay, how about this. Tell me why you’ve chosen Harry.”</p><p>“What? What do you mean, chosen,” Draco said, faint and bewildered, as though the mere idea of him having a choice was overwhelming. As though Harry had chosen him, and having been blessed with that choice, he’d gotten more than he’d ever deserved.</p><p>Hermione found a seat cushion.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s chair was every bit as extravagant as he was. But Hermione could not deny that it had turned out beautifully. He’d ended up with a plush velvet armchair, rich royal blue at the top, fading down to an inky midnight black at the base, like the colors of a cloudless sky making its way through the evening into the night. Silvery constellations shimmered throughout, some stars shining brighter than others.</p><p>Draco (because he was Draco to Hermione now, after a full week of constructing the chair together) showed Hermione the snaking line of his namesake, and also of Sirius in Canis Major and Narcissus in Gemini and a plethora of other stars and constellations that Hermione suddenly knew without a doubt were all blood relations to Draco. Trust Draco to have the entirety of his mother’s family tree threaded into his chair, Hermione thought, wanting to laugh at how unexpectedly ridiculous the Black family turned out to be; such an ancient and noble house, with such a corny naming scheme for their descendents.</p><p>But she didn’t laugh, because Draco took that moment to apologize to her for everything. <em> Everything </em>. He went on and on and on, reciting page after page of infractions, as though Draco had taken the time to write every one down and memorize it all the night before. Hermione stopped him before he reached the end. “I get the idea,” she said, grinning, “Thank you.”</p><p>Looking pleased, Draco curled up in the armchair like a cat that first night, snoring softly while Hermione and Pansy worked at the table beside him. The second night he wandered around the library, vanishing dust and uprighting shelves as he went, before collapsing back in the chair, exhausted but pleased. The third night, he installed thin wire supports from the center of the table, hanging over them a canopy of crystal spheres, each illuminated by a little ball of <em> lumos </em>. By the fourth night, Hermione stopped bringing candles in.</p><p>Harry came on the sixth night.</p><p>Hermione had known he was going to show up eventually. But she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment at what needed to happen next, even though she knew what had to be done before Harry had shown up. He’d only forced her hand.</p><p>She pulled Harry behind a row of shelves. “You’re going to have to tell Ron,” she told him.</p><p>He scratched his head. “Don’t you mean, we?”</p><p>“Yes, but you've got a bigger dungbomb to drop. I’m not the one in a relationship with my nemesis.”</p><p>He sighed. He started leaning back toward a bookshelf. Hermione reached out and grabbed him before he could, pulling them both to the ground in a clumsy, dusty heap.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said, looking a bit sheepish, “Don’t know how stable these shelves are. Best not lean on them.”</p><p>He laughed. “Is this another one of those ridiculous —” he choked off, laughing again, Hermione joining in, “I’m not even the one who got us into the mess this time. You’re the one who’s insisting on going to a demolished library every night, to study with <em> Slytherins </em>.”</p><p>“Alright, settle down,” she said resignedly. “But you know we’ve got to tell Ron now. We can’t afford to be hanging around here, the four of us, and risk him finding out. You know how devastated he’d be.”</p><p>“He’d never willingly come to the library,” Harry said, “He knows you value your study time.”</p><p>“And don’t you see how this is already taking advantage of that?” Hermione argued, her cheeks flushing. She didn’t know why it always came down to this. Keeping a secret from Ron, because they were too afraid of how he’d respond. And of course he’d get even angrier when the truth finally made its way to him.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Harry said, but he was frowning, sad. “I’m just — you know how he’d get.”</p><p>“He’d get over it,” Hermione said confidently. “He always gets over it. He’s just — not good at surprises, I guess. Or change. But he’d get over it.”</p><p>“I’m just, I <em> know </em> how much he wanted me to date Ginny.”</p><p>“I know. Harry—”</p><p>“And — I’m just afraid of losing him. I’m afraid he’s going to make me choose —”</p><p>“<em> Harry </em>. Stop making excuses. He won’t,” Hermione said. “He’ll throw a fit. He won’t speak to us for a week, maybe a month. And then he’ll come back. Ron always comes back.”</p><p>Harry stared off to the right. Hermione followed his gaze to a mound of books, the bronze frame of a chandelier crashed over them. And then she saw it — a rod of polished rosewood. It would be perfect for the spindle of a chair.</p><p>“Alright,” Harry said. He sounded weary. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>It was only Pansy at the library when Hermione dragged herself to its sanctuary the next day. Harry had been too exhausted to come after the ensuing fight with Ron, and Draco had stayed back to support him. Or at least that’s what Hermione supposed he was doing. She still had no idea how that relationship worked, even though she didn’t hate Draco anymore.</p><p>Ron took it well enough, all things considered. He’d yelled a bit. And then a bit more. And then Harry had managed to get some words in — with some interjections by Hermione — and then Ron shouted a bit more. And then finally Ron had said, “I just need some time to myself,” and as soon as he went up the stairs, Hermione had run off to the library nearly weeping for joy.</p><p>Pansy looked up from her book when Hermione sat down. Hermione could read in her arched brow the unspoken question: <em> Why aren’t you comforting your boyfriend? </em></p><p>She almost wanted to tell her to mind her own business. But instead she said, “He wanted some alone time.”</p><p>Pansy tutted, clearly disbelieving.</p><p>“Okay, fine. I just needed a break from all that yelling,” she admitted. She knew that Ron had probably wanted her to chase after him.</p><p>“What do you like about him anyway?” Pansy said flatly, as though she’d only asked out of courtesy. But Hermione knew better by now than to believe her indifference.</p><p>“He’s —” she started, and then stopped when the reasons didn’t flow out of her, light and easy as they did only three months ago. “I —” she started again, and then stopped.</p><p>Ron was so sweet. The best friend. And he loved her. Sometimes it felt like he was <em> made </em> to love her, to care for her. Take her to Madam Puddifoot’s on a Sunday. Carry her books on the way to class. A dozen sunflowers for her birthday. All things most girls, like Lavender, or Hannah, would adore in a boyfriend.</p><p>Except Hermione hated Madam Puddifoot’s. She hated the pink heart decorations, the intensely floral smell; she even hated the other couples with their giggly clasped hands and soppy grins. And as far as for carrying her books, she’s got a bottomless purse, and a spell to lighten the load, so why would she ever need him to carry her books? And the sunflowers. The sunflowers were fine, she supposed, if only they didn’t die before she even had a good chance to look at them. Jesus, thinking about this was making her morose. Had Ron ever managed to care for her the way she wanted?</p><p>She whipped her head up, her heart pattering furiously, her face already flushed in guilt. She hadn’t realized, until now —</p><p>Pansy was looking at her nails, feigning boredom.</p><p>“Merlin, you can’t just do that!” Hermione erupted, banging her hands on the table, “You can’t just make me realize I don’t love my boyfriend anymore and pretend like you don’t care!”</p><p>Pansy’s face was still as smooth as a mirror. Her red lips parted. Those perfectly confident lips, curled as though they weren’t afraid of saying anything. Hermione couldn’t keep her gaze off of them. And then Pansy twisted those lips in a sneer and said, “What do you want me to do about it, Granger? Help you break up with him? You already know what you have to do.”</p><p>“I want your lips.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The rouge you’ve got on them. I want you to put it on me. And then I’ll go break up with him.”</p><p>Pansy blinked once, disbelieving. And then she said, “Well, come over then.”</p><p>Hermione walked over, her heart pounding. Pansy was still sitting in her chair, although she’d turned it perpendicular to the table. She’d taken out a gold tube of rouge and placed it on the desk beside her. Her legs were parted slightly, her miniskirt riding up. Hermione swallowed, flushing. And then she bent down on her knees and crawled in the space between Pansy’s legs, bracing herself with one arm along the side of Pansy’s leg.</p><p>“Look at me,” Pansy demanded as she twisted up the stick of rouge. The tip was blunt; half the tube already used up. Hermione tilted her head up, lips slightly parted, and looked into those sloe-black eyes, her stomach twisting at the sudden thought that Pansy’s lipstick, the same one that Pansy’s lips had brushed time and time again, would be touching hers now — before Pansy cradled her face with one hand and swiped the rouge across Hermione’s lower lip with the other. Hermione closed her eyes, trembling, and felt Pansy finish off her top lip in two bold swoops.</p><p>“You can open your eyes now,” Pansy said.</p><p>Hermione snapped them open, flushing. But Pansy looked amused, her hand still caressing Hermione’s face, and Hermione felt her own heart flutter open, pleased, despite herself.</p><p>“I’m — I can’t break up with him today. He’s already asleep,” Hermione found herself still blushing, embarrassed over how good Pansy’s hand felt against her face.</p><p>But Pansy was already letting go of her, turning her chair back to face the table. “We’ll consider this a practice run then.”</p><p>Hermione got up from her knees. She took a deep breath, trying to focus. And then she noticed what Pansy was reading.</p><p>“That’s not N.E.W.T.’s required reading,” she accused.</p><p>“No,” Pansy agreed, not looking up from her book.</p><p>Hermione put a hand on Pansy’s shoulder, undeterred. “What <em> are </em> you reading, then?”</p><p>Pansy snapped the book closed around her finger so Hermione could read the cover. <em> Architectural Magical Theory </em>. </p><p>“Why?” Hermione demanded. But suddenly she knew why herself. “The library. You think there’s something going on with it. Something wrong.”</p><p>“I’m surprised you haven’t started researching yourself,” Pansy said, “Isn’t that your role in your precious little trio? The brain?”</p><p>Hermione ignored the dig. “But it’s only done good so far. It’s only helped us make beautiful things.”</p><p>“And yet even the most powerful witches in Britain couldn’t reconstruct it.”</p><p>“They just hadn’t the time,” Hermione defended, although it even sounded weak to her own ears.</p><p>“They’d managed to reconstruct every other room, down to the last cob-webbed broom closet, and yet, not the library? It doesn’t add up. There must be some dark magic keeping it this way.”</p><p>A candle holder crashed to the ground behind Pansy. Hermione watched it fall from the top of a collapsed shelf, her chest seized in a sudden fear that <em> the library was listening to them </em>. She grabbed Pansy by the hand and dragged them out, slamming the door shut just as two books flew off a discarded mound and hurled swift as bats toward them. They thudded against the closed door.</p><p>Pansy’s hand was still gripped tight in Hermione’s. Hermione’s face was pressed into Pansy’s collar. She could feel the thud of Pansy’s heart, shaky against her own. Then Pansy said, “Alright,” and they broke apart, walking wordlessly down the hall into the brightness of the Great Hall. Hermione kept Pansy’s hand in her own as she continued to lead them all the way to the Gryffindor common room.</p><p>“I can’t go in there,” Pansy said when faced with the portrait of the Fat Lady.</p><p>“It’s past midnight. It’s going to be empty. And we can go to my room. I’m not sharing with anyone. We had an odd number of 8th year Gryffindor girls.” And Hermione had been the odd one out, as always. It came in handy this time.</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hermione exclaimed when they’d finally gotten into her room and she’d locked the door behind her. And then she clamped a hand over her mouth when she’d realized she’d just cursed out loud, and in no less than <em> Muggle </em>.</p><p>Pansy made a noise so foreign, coming out of her, that it took Hermione an extra second to realize that she was laughing. And then Hermione was laughing too, full-bellied and wheezing, exclaiming between gasps, “Did we really get attacked by the library?”</p><p>Pansy said, “Seems like it. It’s a shame. I’d rather liked it.”</p><p>But Hermione was shaking her head. “No. We definitely have to go back.”</p><p>“We can’t. It’s <em> evil </em>.” Pansy was looking at Hermione, bewildered. Hermione was enjoying this side of Pansy; this was the most expressive she’d ever been in front of Hermione. That, with the combination of a new mystery, made Hermione the happiest she’d been since returning to Hogwarts.</p><p>Smiling, Hermione said, “I think it’s just misunderstood.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was the issue of sneaking Pansy out of the Gryffindor dorms.</p><p>“I can get Harry, we can borrow his Invisibility Cloak,” Hermione said. She was sitting on her bed, Crookshanks in her lap.</p><p>“Gryffindors,” Pansy muttered. She looked up at Hermione. “As much as I’d love to get my hands on a rare piece of magic like that, it’s absolutely unnecessary. All I have to do is do my makeup differently and no one will notice at all.”</p><p>She opened Hermione’s wardrobe and pulled on a crimson jumper (Ron had left it one night) and Hermione’s knitted cap. Out of her robes she took out her reading glasses that she transfigured to look boxy and big. And then she stood in front of Hermione’s mirror and wiped off all her makeup. She turned to Hermione, and presented her new look with a flourish.</p><p>Pansy looked like — well, she looked like <em> Hermione </em>. She looked approachable, almost friendly, in her soft jumper and poofy cap. There was a smattering of freckles under Pansy’s eyes that probably hadn’t seen the light of day in a decade.</p><p>“You’re right,” Hermione whispered, taken aback, “Barely recognizable.” Hermione was seized with the urge to bury her head in Pansy’s chest. She just looked <em> so soft </em>, so unlike her usual cool metal self, like Hermione was getting a private glimpse of who Pansy could be when she was alone.</p><p>They walked down the stairs and out of the common room together without any suspicion. And then Pansy veered right to the girl’s bathroom. She gave Hermione a look when Hermione had followed her. “I’m just going in to right myself up,” she said, “No need for you to follow. It would look weird if you’re walking into the Great Hall with me, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>“Right, sorry, you’re right,” Hermione blurted out, shocked and embarrassed. But all she could think of as she walked the three flights of stairs and two long corridors down to the Great Hall was <em> why? </em> Had she been a coward, to back down from that? To admit that it would look bad, for her to be seen with Pansy? Or was Pansy the one who didn’t want to be seen with her?</p><p>She sat down and ate every miserable bite of oatmeal.</p><p> </p><p>Harry and Ron stood waiting on opposite ends of the hallway outside of Transfigurations. Hermione hesitated, mouthing an apology to Harry, before joining Ron.</p><p>She nudged her shoulder against him. “How’re you holding up?”</p><p>Ron crossed his arms tighter around himself, his mouth thinning. Hermione watched him, looking away from her and hurting, and realized how intertwined his emotions had been with hers, how his jealousy and anger had also been hers to harbor too. And now that she wasn’t in love with him anymore, she found that she saw him as though from a meter afar. She could see his insecurity for what it was, apart from her. It was this same detachment that afforded her sympathy. She wasn’t in a rush for him to forgive Harry. He wasn’t holding her up anymore, wasn’t preventing her from being happy anymore; she could wait for him to figure it out himself.</p><p>“I never even see you these days,” Ron said finally, “Can we talk? Tonight.” He turned to her. Hermione looked up to him. His eyes were red and bleary. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and said, “Of course”.</p><p> </p><p>Draco found her in the halls before Ron could. “Oh thank Merlin the bloody map works,” he said, grabbing her by the arm, floating head leading her ahead as the Invisibility Cloak bunched around his shoulders.</p><p>Hermione followed the familiar path down stairs and around corners until they came in front of the abandoned library doors. In front of it laid Harry. He wasn’t moving.</p><p>“Harry,” Hermione whispered. She dropped her bag and ran to him.</p><p>His face was pale, his eyes closed. “He’s still breathing. I tried <em> Innervate </em>, but it didn’t work,” Draco said, crouched down beside her, “Everything about him is fine. He’s just — unconscious.”</p><p>Hermione whirled on him. “Why isn’t he in the hospital wing?” But as she asked she already knew the answer. Draco hadn’t brought him to the hospital wing because he was scared of what it’d look like for him to bring in an unconscious Harry. Everyone would assume the worst. They’d have assumed that they’d dueled. And his only alibi would have been even more terrible to reveal — that they were <em> together </em>. Hermione wasn’t sure she would have even believed him, if she hadn’t caught them at it.</p><p>“He asked me to find you,” Draco said, white-faced and tight-lipped, “He always said, if anything goes wrong, find Hermione. I didn’t think I’d actually have to follow up on it, it’s not like, I mean, the war is <em> over </em>. It’s not like I expected to get accosted by a fucking library that was perfectly accomodating only the night before. Merlin, can you —”</p><p>Hermione levitated Harry’s body up. She draped the Invisibility Cloak over him. And then she turned to Draco, saw the fear straining the corners of his eyes as he babbled on. Draco had come to her, she realized with a shock, because he <em> trusted </em> her. And he was right. He could trust her. She did not believe for a second that he was responsible for Harry’s condition.</p><p>“Let’s go. Tell me what happened on the way,” she demanded.</p><p> </p><p>Draco explained that they had gone to the library, but the door was locked. Harry had then cast an <em> Alohomora </em>, and the doors had opened reluctantly. Then they’d both not made three steps in before a gust of wind swept them up into a vortex of splintered wood and ripped pages and dust. Draco had been swept out the door and crashed against the wall. He’d passed out. When he’d come to, Harry was lying motionless in front of him.</p><p>Hermione felt the pricklings of guilt. “The library was acting weird yesterday too,” she said, “It chased Pansy and me out. Turned some books into bats. I should’ve warned Harry. But I didn’t have a chance to talk to him —”</p><p>“Do you know what’s wrong with it?” Draco asked, shivering.</p><p>Hermione shook her head. “I’d have to reread the chapter in <em> Hogwarts, A History </em>. The library is made of magic older than the castle itself.”</p><p>They reached the hospital wing. They both knew that he couldn’t follow her in. So she told him to fetch Ron, and he went without protest.</p><p> </p><p>Madam Pomfry settled Harry onto a bed. And then she called Headmistress McGonagall.</p><p>“You understand that this means your access to the library has been revoked,” McGonagall said, not without sympathy. And then before Hermione could protest, she said, “I will personally see to warding the entrance.”</p><p>Hermione looked up at her from Harry’s bedside. His right hand was clasped in hers. “What’s stopping us from restoring it?” she demanded, remembering Pansy’s arguments last night. “It makes no sense. We’ve certainly enough house elves to at least dust it.”</p><p>“The library takes care of itself. The house elves do not enter it; there’s no need, as it dusts its books itself.”</p><p>Hermione shuddered. “It’s as though you’re saying the library is — sentient. I’ve never heard of any kind of magic like that.”</p><p>Ron burst in, shouting. McGonagall bowed her way out before Hermione could demand a response.</p><p>“Was it Malfoy? Tell me it was Malfoy,” Ron accused.</p><p>“Ron, really,” Hermione said, exasperated, “He was the one who went to get you.”</p><p>“Oh.” He flushed, before explaining defensively, “How was I to know that? It’s not like he spoke to me. He just sent me an unsigned note folded up in a crane.”</p><p>Hermione didn’t deign to respond. Finally Ron gave in, saying, “Alright. I admit it. I didn’t think it was Malfoy either. I was just, wasn’t this shit supposed to <em> stop </em> after Voldemort?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Hermione said, “I didn’t expect the library to attack Harry.”</p><p>Silence filled the space between them, thick and choking. Hermione turned her gaze to Harry, watched his chest rise and drop with every breath. Breaking up with Ron over Harry’s sickbed felt wrong. But Hermione knew she had to do it now, even if she didn’t want to. She wished she had on Pansy’s bold lip. She wished she could just come out and say it and then it’d be over, and they could go back to being best friends. </p><p>She turned back to Ron. Ron’s eyes were pinned on her. He opened his mouth and said, “This doesn’t feel right,” the same time she said, “I don’t think we’re working out.”</p><p>Ron exhaled, long and loud, as though he were expelling his body of something terrible. And then he said, “Alright.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered.</p><p>“Me too,” he said. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. And then he looked toward Harry, determined. “What’s your plan then?”</p><p>“I was going to pay a visit to the kitchens, actually,” she said, happy for the change in subject. Focusing on Harry, supporting Harry. That was something they could always do together.</p><p> </p><p>The house-elves served them a generous platter of treacle tart and tea. Hermione helped herself to a slice. It was far too sweet; she didn’t understand how Harry could pack down several slices in one go.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ron said with his mouth full.</p><p>“You is welcome, Master Ron. Larpy is happy to be sharing treacle tarts with Harry Potter’s friends,” the house-elf responded.</p><p>“Larpy, I had a few questions for you, actually,” Hermione said after a sip of tea. “Do house elves ever go to the library?”</p><p>Larpy shook her head, frowning. “Larpy is never being in the library, Master Hermione. The library is always taking care of itself.”</p><p>“What about the books? Someone must be repairing the chairs or scraping gum off the seats. Surely Madam Pince doesn’t do it all herself?”</p><p>“Or selecting new books, repairing worn ones,” Ron added.</p><p>Larpy shook her head intensely. “The library is taking care of it all by herself. The library is not wanting the help from anyone else. The library is always taking care of herself.”</p><p>“You can’t mean the library — some sort of magic within the library — has been curating the entire selection of books?” Hermione asked, dumbfounded. It couldn’t be. Everything she <em> knew </em> came from that library. To think that everything she knew had been chosen by magic, a magic that had <em> attacked Harry </em> —  it was as though she was seeing her puppetmaster for the first time.</p><p>“Who built the library?” Ron asked. Hermione whipped her head toward him. His brow was furrowed, like it looked when he played chess.</p><p>“Larpy is not understanding yous question, Master Ron,” Larpy replied, bowing.</p><p>Hermione grew impatient. “He’s asking you who was responsible for the library when Hogwarts was first built. Who put the walls up for it, who built the shelves. Tell me. Was it Slytherin?</p><p>Larpy only shook her head harder. She lifted her hands to her ears, looking like Dobby did right before he started banging his head on the table. Hermione regretted her tone immediately. She reached out to stop her.</p><p>“The library was already here,” Ron said.</p><p>Both Hermione and Larpy froze, turning to him. Then Larpy gave the slightest nod of her head.</p><p>“What do you mean,” Hermione demanded.</p><p>Ron swallowed. “Mum used to tell us stories about springs of knowledge that grow naturally from soil where magic was especially strong. Ancient magic, not the kind of magic we use today. So stuff like, you know — the Rosetta Stone. Or the Library of Alexandria. Stories say knowledge just comes forth from them. But since then they’ve all been contained, or destroyed. Or in hiding, I suppose, in Hogwarts. You said the library was built with magic older than Hogwarts itself. So it could be that Hogwarts was built around it.”</p><p>“So you’re saying this ancient library magic — that’s the thing that’s attacked Harry? But then why would it start attacking <em> now </em>? What changed?”</p><p>“Well, I imagine it didn’t enjoy being trampled on by trolls,” Ron said drily.</p><p>“But the library’s been destroyed before, I read it in <em> Hogwarts, A History </em>. And it’s never acted out like this!”</p><p>Ron shrugged. “Why does it matter as long as we get it to stop acting out, so we can revive Harry?”</p><p>“And how do you suppose we do that?”</p><p>Ron sighed. “I don’t know, Hermione. Look, I’m on your side. I’m trying to figure it out too.”</p><p>“We can go back to my room,” Hermione said, deflating. “I’ve some books we can read through.” But was it even enough? The ten books she had checked out, and her own collection of twenty or so other books, and then Pansy’s book, the book that had started all this trouble. Would that meager collection tell her what she needed to know? She missed her library more than ever.</p><p> </p><p>Pansy was already in Hermione’s room when they got back. She was sprawled over the spare bed still in her school shirt and skirt, staring up at the ceiling, humming along to a song. From the door Hermione could see up her skirt to her panties. She blushed.</p><p>“Parkinson?” Ron barked out, “What’s <em> she </em> doing here?”</p><p>“Is that a Sony Walkman?” Hermione asked at the same time, incredulous.</p><p>Pansy sat up, pulling out her headphones. She leveled them with those dark, serpent’s eyes, and waited for them to make a move.</p><p>Hermione broke the standoff. She crawled onto the bed by Pansy’s feet, pulling her legs into herself. “Draco told you, then?”</p><p>“Yes,” she affirmed.</p><p>Ron made his way to sit on Hermione’s bed. “So you’re all chummy now?” he accused.</p><p>Pansy rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be presumptuous. I’m only here for Draco. Your precious girlfriend is free from my wicked influence.”</p><p>“Not girlfriend,” Hermione muttered quickly. She didn’t want Pansy to think she had made up with Ron, and that Pansy needed to hide their friendship from him. She didn’t want to think about the alternative either, that Pansy really meant it when she said she was only in Hermione’s room for Draco, because that would hurt too much.</p><p>“Definitely not,” Ron added a snide bitterly.</p><p>“I couldn’t care less what you called each other,” Pansy said tonelessly, “You could tell me that all the Gryffindors were in a committed, polyamorous relationship with each other where Granger here’s organized a color-coded schedule for who fucks whom which days and where and I wouldn’t bat an eye. Now can we focus on the real issue here?”</p><p>“Sure,” Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d been sighing a lot these days.</p><p>“Alright,” Hermione said, and caught Pansy up.</p><p>After she finished, Pansy said, “What did the Headmistress say, then?”</p><p>“Oh, the usual,” Hermione said. “Just that we’re forbidden from the library now. Nothing useful.”</p><p>“A wise directive. That you’re going to blatantly disobey.”</p><p>Hermione shared a wane smile with Ron.</p><p>“So, what.” Pansy waved her hand around. “You’re just going to research your way out of this mess, solve it yourself?”</p><p>“It’s what we’ve always done,” Ron said with a hint of pride. Hermione wanted to beam at him.</p><p>Pansy crossed her arms, disbelieving. “Next you’re going to tell me that you solved the Chamber of Secrets all yourself too.”</p><p>Hermione couldn’t help it. She laughed. Because they <em> did </em>. She’d figured it out and delivered the solution to Harry and Ron while petrified, her arm still outstretched, clutching the note. It was all so ridiculous that she didn’t think Pansy would believe her if she told her.</p><p>“You lot are impossible,” Pansy sniffed. “Well, might as well get to it.” And then she picked up her book and started to nose through it. Hermione found another book on ancient magic that she handed to Ron. And then she pulled out <em> Hogwarts, A History </em> for herself, and flipped to the chapter on libraries.</p><p>The book was brief. The library provided a half million resources. Many were damaged in a fire set by Grindlewald in 1927, but they’d been subsequently repaired or replaced. Then it was nearly destroyed again, in 1944. No reasoning was listed as to why.</p><p>Hermione closed the book and rummaged through her bag, pulling out books, looking for one that might give her an answer. She opened each one, flipped through the table of contents, then flipped through the index. But none brought her a single step closer. Of course they wouldn’t. The library curated all the books available to Hermione. If the library wanted to hide, it could. Hermione was at the library’s mercy. Hermione’s eyes watered in frustration. She buried her head behind her legs and felt the tears come. They were never going to save Harry this way.</p><p>The bed shifted underneath her. A hand ran down her side, stroking her lightly. It had to be Pansy. Ron wasn’t ever delicate with his affection. She looked up, wiping her eye with the back of her hand, her nose with the front. “Sorry,” she said, smiling. “I’m good now.”</p><p>“We’ll figure it out,” Pansy said, her mouth tight and determined. Ron nodded from across the room.</p><p>So Hermione picked up <em> Hogwarts, A History </em> again, and started on page one, intent on reading until she passed out.</p><p> </p><p>That night, Hermione dreamed of the long stretch of hallway leading to the library. Harry and Draco were walking along it. In the dream Hermione saw them fully corporeal, but she knew from their shuffled movements, their hands clasped tight, that they were under the Cloak. So with that Hermione deduced that she was dreaming, and that this was no ordinary dream. It had to be a vision. She was going to see what the library did to Harry when Draco was passed out against the wall.</p><p>Still, the hallway was long, and the two took their time walking, their sides pressed together as though enjoying their near-oneness in their movements. At one point Harry said something that made Draco laugh so loud that Harry clamped a hand over Draco’s mouth. Draco’s eyes went dark and dilated; Harry’s breath roughed in response as he shoved Draco up against the wall and crowded up against him, covering Draco’s mouth with his.</p><p>Hermione turned away, embarrassed. Why was the dream showing her this? It didn’t seem relevant. But then Draco let out a breathy moan, and Hermione involuntarily looked back at them. Draco’s pale hand tugged through Harry’s black hair. It traced a path down the side of Harry’s golden face until it stopped at his chest. Draco pushed at Harry’s chest, pulling away. “Later,” he smirked, his mouth red and pleased.</p><p>Harry grinned so wide his canines showed. Hermione’s heart nearly stopped at the sight; she hadn’t seen her Harry so giddy since, well since he last won a Quidditch game. Actually, not even the last one. Draco had to sit out of that one, and Harry had been so distracted — </p><p>They were shuffling forward again. Hermione ran to catch up.</p><p>Harry tried to pull open the door.</p><p>“Why’s it stuck?” Draco asked. </p><p>Harry shrugged and took out his wand. “<em> Alohomora </em>,” he cast. The door creaked. Harry tugged at the handle again, but it was still jammed shut.</p><p>Draco bit his lip. “I’m not sure — I, this doesn’t <em> feel </em> right,” he said nervously, “I don’t want to go in if it doesn’t want us going in. Magical rooms, you never know what they’re really capable of —”</p><p>“What, scared?” Harry teased. He tapped his wand on the door again, and tried another <em> Alohomora </em>. This time the door made a grinding sound, as though gears were turning. There was a loud click. Harry pulled the door open wide, so that they both could look inside.</p><p>There was a thick layer of dust over everything. All the dusting they did, all work they’d put in to fix up the library, to make the library theirs again, had been undone. Their table laid toppled, their chairs in a heap on top of it. Even the enchanted lights that Draco had strung up were smashed; the only light in the room came from the moon peeking in from the troll-sized gap in the wall.</p><p>“Harry,” Draco said, hesitating.</p><p>Harry took Draco’s hand in his. “It’ll be fine. Hermione probably threw a fit after last night.”</p><p>Draco’s mouth soured. “Hermione doesn’t throw fits.” Hermione snorted. Quite right she didn’t. She liked to handle things in a less destructive way: with a good cry.</p><p>“Well, if Pansy had been there to provoke her…” Harry suggested. “Look, don’t worry. We’ll just take a step in at a time.”</p><p>Draco gripped his hand tighter, giving in with a short nod. They took a step in. Nothing happened. They took another step. And another, until they were a quarter’s way into the library. And then the dust started to move.</p><p>“Harry,” Draco said, trying to pull them back toward the door. But it was already too late. The dust had swirled around their legs, tying them down. “Harry, we have to —”</p><p>“Get Hermione,” Harry said. The wind picked up, swirling dust all around them in a vortex. It forced them apart, dragged Harry away from Draco. “Get Hermione!” Harry yelled as the vortex spun him up, eating books and chairs and broken candlesticks along with him. Draco screamed, caught up in another wave of wind, so strong it swept him a foot off the ground and straight out the door, smashing into the wall of the hallway behind Hermione.</p><p>Hermione kept her eyes on Harry. The vortex kept him up in the air, thrashing him around and upside down, throwing him up against the ceiling, left against shelves, right against chandeliers. There was no real logic as to what the vortex was doing. It looked as though it was toying with him. And just as inexplicably, the vortex threw Harry out the door. But it didn’t stop then. The dust started to compact until it was nearly corporeal and taking the shape of a tall young man with dark hair and the pale face of Tom Marvolo Riddle.</p><p>She shrieked.</p><p>The dust became merciless then. It slashed at the figure, plummeting him with books, flaying him with candlesticks, until he was cowering against the floor, screaming. And then finally the dust cleaved him cleanly in two. His lifeless eyes bore down at Hermione until he disintegrated into dust, only to regroup to make out the word:</p><p>
  <em> HALF-BLOOD </em>
</p><p>Hermione woke still screaming.</p><p>Pansy’s hands were by her side. “Wake up,” she said, shaking her, “It’s just a dream. Wake up.”</p><p>Hermione shivered. Her arms were clutched tight around her tome of <em> Hogwarts, A History </em>. “I don’t think it was a dream.”</p><p>Pansy furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?” Her eyes were barely open. She looked exhausted. </p><p>“Talk about it tomorrow,” Hermione said, still shivering behind the book. She wanted nothing more than to pull Pansy into bed with her, and she told her so.</p><p>“I’m just across the room,” Pansy said.</p><p>“Not close enough.” Hermione took Pansy by the shoulder and tugged. Pansy lost balance, collapsing onto Hermione, her soft breasts in Hermione’s face.</p><p>“Alright, fine,” Pansy said, rolling over Hermione to face the wall. She left a hand’s gap between the two of them on the narrow bed. It wasn’t exactly what Hermione wanted, but with Pansy warm next to her at least now she could think, without fear clouding her thoughts. The library. Had it attacked Harry because he was a half-blood too, like Voldemort? She nudged her foot against Pansy’s. Pansy nudged back, and despite herself, Hermione got distracted in their warmth, and fell into dreamless sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know it was him?” Ron asked the next day from across Harry’s hospital bed. They’d met to visit Harry in the hospital wing. Harry had come to that morning, but he was still weak; he couldn’t stand on his own.</p><p>“I just knew. The dream told me,” Hermione said.</p><p>Harry backed her up. “My vision dreams with Voldemort had been like that.”</p><p>Ron grimaced. “Your dreams were lies.”</p><p>“Even if they were lies, they helped us figure out what Voldemort wanted, didn’t they?” Harry retorted.</p><p>“Yeah, I suppose,” Ron said. He leaned back, munching on a piece of toast he’d stolen from Harry’s plate as he thought. “So we know the library probably doesn’t like Voldemort very much. Or half-bloods in general,” he said, nodding to Harry. “And Voldemort let in the troll that destroyed the library. So now the library has a vendetta against him.”</p><p>“Possibly, but like I said before, the library has been wrecked before with no consequence. I read about it last night.” Hermione opened up her copy of <em> Hogwarts, A History </em> and turned to the page on the library. Except where yesterday there had been a scant few columns, there was nothing. The next section on the Great Hall had been pushed up in its place. Hermione stared at it, disbelieving. And then she turned to the last page in the book. <em> 1082. </em> Two pages fewer than it had been yesterday. Frantically, she turned to the index. Nothing under <em> library </em>.</p><p>She looked up at Ron and Harry’s puzzled faces and said, “The library had been wiped entirely from the book.”</p><p>“How is that even possible?” Harry sputtered.</p><p>“It’s possible to make revisions to books,” Ron said, “Authors can make revisions anytime they want. They could even completely remove a book, but they’ve got publishing contracts to prevent that most days. But you’re right. It makes no sense. Bathilda Bagshot is <em> dead </em>. Her corpse literally attacked Harry.”</p><p>Harry flinched. Hermione felt her heart go out to him. Another life Harry blamed himself for not saving. She reached up and took his hand.</p><p>“Oh blimey, that was awful of me to say,” Ron murmured, grabbing Harry’s other hand.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Harry said, forcing a smile, “Draco says the only thing I’ve to blame for is the doom and gloom emulated from my saviour complex.”</p><p>Hermione laughed. “And do you believe him?”</p><p>Ron interrupted, “What of Bagshot then? You’re certain she wrote the book?”</p><p>“Of course!” Hermione said, “Here, let me explain it to you in a way you can understand,” she said, rummaging through her bag for her deck of Chocolate Frog cards. She handed it to him when she found it. “See? Author of <em> Hogwarts, A History </em>.”</p><p>“Professor Bathilda Bagshot (d. 1997) was a British witch and magical historian. During her life, she authored <em> A History of Magic </em> among many others, and published <em> Hogwarts, A History </em>.” Ron looked up. “Why do you think the distinction between authored and published there?”</p><p>Hermione frowned. She flipped to the front page of the book to look for a publisher. But where there would normally be a list of copyrights and publication dates under the logo of the publishing house was simply the Hogwarts seal. “Nothing,” she said, growing confused.</p><p>Madam Pomfry bustled in then. “You’re going to be late to class if you don’t head out now,” she said cheerily, “Don’t worry about flobberlegs here, he’s going nowhere.”</p><p>They snickered at each other. Then Hermione threw herself over Harry. “We’ll be back tonight,” she promised.</p><p> </p><p>Ron walked with her to the greenhouses. Things were still stiff between them, but Hermione was happy that they were talking again, at least.</p><p>“So, Parkinson’s moved in already?”</p><p>Hermione blushed. It was a reasonable question for Ron to ask. She would have asked him the same if their positions were reversed. And Ron probably thought Hermione had just taken on another charity case, like Crookshanks. He couldn’t have known that Hermione had woken up next to Pansy that morning with their hands interlaced and their feet curled against each other, and Hermione had liked it so unbearably much that she told Pansy so.</p><p>“Just like that?” Pansy had said, amused. Hermione had frowned, a little disappointed that Pansy hadn’t just thrown herself over Hermione at her confession. But Pansy hadn’t looked mad, or revolted, at least, so Hermione had asked her what she meant, and Pansy had said, “You really haven’t thought of the consequences at all, have you? If you like someone, you’ll just say it.”</p><p>“Of course I thought of the consequences. But the war’s over, isn’t it?” Hermione had insisted, “There’s nothing holding me back anymore. Unless you’re talking about having enough time to study for the N.E.W.T.’s —”</p><p>Pansy had snorted. “You’re unbelievable. You haven’t thought about what others will say at all, because you don’t care what they think. You’re real about that. You really don’t care. I bet you didn’t even think about how you like girls now. It wasn’t even a big shock to you. It’s just another part of who you are, and your friends already know it’s all or nothing when it comes to you.”</p><p>Hermione had blushed then, feeling naked, because it <em> was </em> true. Harry, Ron, her parents; they might not understand at first but then she would make them understand, like she always did, and everything would be fine. That was how it always worked. Of course it didn’t work on everyone, she couldn’t make everyone understand, but that’s why she didn’t care about those people anyway.</p><p>Pansy had been looking at her. And then she had said, “You’re so cute when you’re thinking and you’ve got that furrow in your brow. It makes me want to kiss you so much,” and Hermione had blushed even deeper and leaned in a little closer, edging her hands towards Pansy’s smooth thighs, but Pansy hadn’t kissed her in the end. She’d gotten up and put on Ron’s jumper and Hermione’s beanie and walked out the door, leaving Hermione regretting she hadn’t just taken what Pansy wanted.</p><p>Ron couldn’t have known any of that walking down the hall with her that morning. All he wanted to know was if Pansy slept in Hermione’s spare bed now, and if it was going to be a permanent sort of thing. So Hermione said a little defensively, “Yeah, do you mind?”</p><p>“Can’t say I do,” Ron said, sighing, “Just getting used to it, is all.”</p><p>“Oh, Ron,” Hermione said, suddenly warmed, pleased at his effort. She looped her arm in his and leaned into him fondly, exactly how she used to.</p><p> </p><p>That night they caught Draco half crawled on the hospital bed, mouth plastered to Harry’s. Draco jolted away when they entered, his face scarlet, but Harry only pushed his hair back and grinned.</p><p>“How’re the legs?” Ron asked, carefully sidestepping what they’d walked in on.</p><p>“Still flobbery,” Draco said immediately.</p><p>Harry threw him a glare. “I can walk.”</p><p>“No you can’t —”</p><p>“I don’t care, I’ll just <em> Imperius </em> myself to walk if I have to.”</p><p>“Harry James Potter,” Hermione scolded. The three of them froze, staring at her. Her face softened; she put on a teasing tone. “You know that’s not how <em> Imperius </em> works, it only —”</p><p>“Alright, alright,” Ron stopped her reflexively. He hated when she turned into “Encyclopedia Mione”. She’d toned it down in the last few years, but she still brought it out to annoy him sometimes. She punched his arm.</p><p>“Put me in the wheelchair. I want to come. I’m not going to miss out on this,” Harry said with his arms crossed stubbornly.</p><p>“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “Even if you were well it would be better for you not to come. You know how badly the library reacted last time you were there.”</p><p>“Then put me under the Cloak or something!”</p><p>“You think the library can’t see you under the cloak?” Hermione snorted. She was snorting so much these days; she must’ve picked it up from Pansy.</p><p>“If it’s mad at me, don’t you think I should be there? So I can resolve it? Didn’t you say yourself that you think it’s only misunderstood?”</p><p>Hermione shook her head. But Ron said, “He may be right,” and Draco wasn’t looking at them, but he wasn’t protesting either, so they ended up wheeling Harry out under the Invisibility Cloak.</p><p>“Where’s Parkinson?” Ron asked.</p><p>“She said she’ll meet us at the library,” Draco said.</p><p> </p><p>“Door’s still locked,” Pansy informed them when they got to the library. “Given what happened last time, I’d advise us <em> not </em> to try and open it again.”</p><p>“Merlin, what’s with the attitude? Do you have to make it so difficult to agree with you?” Ron said, arms crossed. </p><p>“Give it a rest,” Harry said, a hand on Ron’s arm.</p><p>“Let’s try the troll hole,” Draco suggested, still white-faced but not backing down.</p><p>“How do we even get out? The Great Hall doors are locked,” Hermione asked.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’re literally winging it,” Draco groaned.</p><p>Ron shot him a glare. “It’s how we’ve always done it.”</p><p>“Yes,” Hermione hissed, “Now will you stop arguing? We’ll just fly out our dormitory windows via brooms. We can levitate Harry’s wheelchair down. Ron, can you lend us your broom?”</p><p> </p><p>The hole was remarkably still troll-shaped. Hermione approached the opening carefully. She thought she’d be the one to do it, since she was the one with the vision. She called out to the opening, feeling silly as she said, “Hello? Library?”</p><p>The library responded with a lash of dust against her cheek. She shrieked, falling back. But the dust didn’t stop. It found Harry again, and brought him out of the chair, smashing him onto the grass. His body went limp; his eyes rolled back. Draco was immediately beside him, his hand to Harry’s forehead. “Out cold again, breathing fine,” he said.</p><p>Hermione resisted the urge to go to Harry. Draco was already there, and she knew she had another task to do. So she wiped the dust from her face and spoke to the library again. “I’m Hermione Granger. I’ve known you for almost eight years now. That’s pretty long, isn’t it? It’s almost half my life. I’ve learned a lot from you, and the whole time I’ve no idea you’re the one responsible for so much of my happiness. So — I wanted to thank you.”</p><p>“Hermione,” Pansy said behind her, unsure. But Hermione just jabbed her side, hissing, “Introduce yourself!”</p><p>“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron said. “I — err, I don’t read as much as Hermione here. But I’m still grateful for ya, I mean. I had to pass classes and all. And it’s not like my family could afford all those Quidditch books I wanted. Or those wizard chess strategy books. But you always kept them stocked. So — err, thank you.”</p><p>The dust swirled. But it didn’t lash out.</p><p>“I’m Draco Malfoy,” Draco said weakly, “Thank you?”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. And then she turned to Pansy. But Pansy shook her head, taking another step back.</p><p>Hermione turned back to the library, disappointed. But the library wasn’t as ready as Hermione to accept Pansy’s dismissal. It reached out a dust tendril, trying to grab Pansy, but Pansy had backed up far enough to be out of its reach. Frustrated, the dust whipped back and forth, a stinging storm around them. Hermione closed her eyes, trying not to breathe. When the dust stopped biting at her skin, she looked up and saw the dust had formed the words — </p><p><em> HALF-BLOOD </em>.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Hermione demanded, “You’ve already got Harry, what else do you want?”</p><p>“It’s talking about me,” Pansy said, her voice like ice. “I’m the half-blood.”</p><p>They turned to her, shocked. “Pansy, I had no idea,” Draco said, reaching for her. But the dust took advantage of their distraction and used that opportunity to grab Harry and sweep him up and into the library.</p><p>“No!” Draco yelled, lunging toward the hole.</p><p>Ron pulled him back. “Don’t,” he said, “You’re useless in there.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Draco said, wenching himself out of Ron’s grasp. But he didn’t try to go in again.</p><p>The dust was swirling all over Harry now, until his whole body was covered in a fine layer and his whole skin was a pale grey, as though made of stone. The dust held his body upright and suspended in the middle of the library. And then the dust forced his mouth open to speak, his eyes opened and rolled back. “Half… blood…” he said, his voice rough and gritty.</p><p>“What do you want?” Hermione demanded again.</p><p>“Half-blood… betrayal…” the library forced through Harry’s voice, “Trust… no more…”</p><p>Hermione flashed back to the figure of Voldemort in her dream. “You were betrayed by a half-blood,” she said, “Tom Marvolo Riddle. Is that right?”</p><p>“Betrayal!” Harry shrieked, “My knowledge… used… to betray… me… never… again…” Harry’s voice got weaker, more wheezing, as more dust forced itself into his body. He started hacking, as though he were suffocating.</p><p>“No,” Hermione said desperately, tears leaking down her face, “Harry didn’t betray you. Only Voldemort. Only him. Your knowledge, we’ve used it so many times. For good things. I swear. I’ll tell you. Put Harry down, please. I’ll tell you. Put him down.”</p><p>A tendril lashed out toward them. Draco gasped, backing away. But Hermione stood still as it stopped in front of her face and caressed her wet cheeks. The dust ceased around Harry, dropping him to the floor. He was still covered in dust, but his eyes were no longer forced open. He’d stopped coughing.</p><p>“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. She wiped her nose. And then she started. She told the library of the time in first year where they discovered Nicholas Flamel. And in the same year, the way her knowledge of Devil’s Snare had helped them. And then again in second year, when she’d learned that the basilisk was getting around the castle through pipes. She talked through third year, to fourth, and so on, all the way to last year, when she’d come across the extension charm to fit more things into her purse. “At first I thought it was just convenient, but it’d really helped when we had to go on the run,” she said.</p><p>“You figured all that out yourself? I’d always assumed the Headmaster helped you with it all,” Pansy said behind her, her voice awed.</p><p>Hermione blushed. “They didn’t approve much of what we were doing.”</p><p>“She’s incredible,” Ron said, beaming.</p><p>Draco didn’t say anything. His eyes were still locked on Harry’s still form. The library had quieted. In the time Hermione was talking, the dust had blown around, closing and stacking books along the floor. But Harry was still unconscious. Draco took a step toward the library, his mouth in a thin line. “I suppose it’s my turn now,” he said. “I didn’t exactly use the library for as noble deeds as Hermione there. But I am grateful that I learned a good acne charm from you in third year.” And then he went on, about the cake frosting charm he’d learned for Pansy’s 14th birthday and the charm he’d learned to read books out loud to Blaise when he’d been too sick to read but was terribly bored in bed. Hermione listened to him and felt her own heart grow fond while watching wood de-splintering into shelves and glass un-shattering and rising toward the ceiling, dazzling chandeliers once more as the library put itself back together, one piece at a time.</p><p>And then Ron went next, going on about the Quidditch plays he’d used as Keeper, or the charms he’d had to look up to undo the pranks that Fred and George had thrown on you (“This was before we were properly friends, and you did all my research for me,” Ron said apologetically to Hermione). And then he started listing every spy novel the library owned, because apparently he’d read them all, until even the library grew frustrated in its righting of shelves and spelled out, in dust - <em> HALF-BLOOD </em>.</p><p>It wanted to speak to Pansy. Pansy scooted up tentatively. And then she said, “I’m Pansy Parkinson. I don’t know why you don’t like half-bloods. It’s not our fault we’re of two worlds. Frankly I don’t understand why you’re not mad at Hermione either, she’s even more of two worlds than me, being a Muggleborn. But I suspect you’ve got a bit of a crush on her. I understand that feeling. You’ve gotten to know her so well, haven’t you? And we’ve not as well acquainted.”</p><p>She sighed then, pressing down onto her palms and leaning forward. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can give you a list of reasons why I’ve appreciated your existence. But that’s not going to change the fact that knowledge can be used to hurt. Nothing I tell you will ever change that.”</p><p>Hermione’s heart hurt. It was true. They’d done awful things themselves. Hermione knew that Harry wished every day that he hadn’t ever learned <em> Sectumsempra </em>. But Hermione wanted to believe that most people were good, and that good people used knowledge to make more good. Hermione wanted to believe it was worth the risk.</p><p>“I get how you feel,” Hermione said, facing Pansy, “Nobody here even knew you were a half-blood, because you haven’t trusted anyone with that knowledge. Because they can use it to hurt you. But hiding it only hurts more in the long term.” She paused, gathering her words. “The beauty of knowledge is that every piece of it is different in each person’s hand, so that when you’ve got everyone putting their pieces together, you’ve something entirely new, something you’ve never even seen before. But you have to put it out there to start. You have to share it, knowing the risk, because it’s worth it, for the chance at something new. Otherwise you’ll never grow. Do you get what I’m saying?”</p><p>Pansy nodded, hands reaching for Hermione’s. Hermione grasped them, wanting to say more, wanting desperately for Pansy to take the risk and tell her that she liked girls too, because with that knowledge they could build something as incredible as love out of it. But then she saw Ron behind Pansy, staring into the library as though dumbstruck, and turned to look too.</p><p>The library was almost completely reconstructed now. The shelves had been realigned. The books had been mended and shelved, the chandeliers rehung. Their own table was the first repaired and sat in the middle of it all, glistening and beautiful, with their three chairs around it, plus another two. For Harry, a sturdy, spindly one of rosewood engraved with a pattern of wing feathers, and for Ron, an armchair of warm leather, with crocheted red and gold coverings. Soon other chairs began piecing themselves back together, tables and candlesticks filling the open areas again, except they were better than they had been before, all engraved or carved or painted in a manner that Hermione realized the library must have learned from them in the previous weeks. Finally even the opening in the wall started to close in front of them. Draco shouted then, calling out to Harry who still laid unconscious inside, but Hermione held him by the shoulder. She felt without a doubt that the library would do them no further harm. And sure enough when the wall closed it left an opening for a large window, with a perfect view out to the lake. Finally the library swept Harry out the window, back into their arms, and the last of the dust settled on the window frame, where it grew into vines.</p><p>Harry opened his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>They dropped Harry off at the hospital wing. Draco lingered to stay, so they’d left for the dorms without him. Then Pansy broke off then too, saying some ridiculous excuse like she had a paper to finish for Divination or something, and Hermione didn’t protest, because it’d been a long night, and she understood the need to retreat and process. So at the end it was just Ron and Hermione. And they both weren’t ready to sleep, adrenaline still pumping through their veins, so Ron suggested that they go up to the Astronomy Tower.</p><p>Hermione cast a warming charm on the stones and they laid down to look up at the stars. Hermione could pick out more of them now, and pointed them out to Ron. And then she braced herself and told Ron that she liked Pansy. That she wanted to ask her out.</p><p>Ron said, “That’s great.”</p><p>“That’s it?” Hermione blurted out, sitting up in surprise.</p><p>Ron sat up too. “I know we haven’t been working out. And I know I’ve been rough on Harry and Draco. Because during the last seven years, I just kept thinking, I’d just have to weather it through, just one more year, one more horcrux, one more escape before we can get to that picture-perfect future. And I spent a lot of time thinking about that future.”</p><p>“I did too—”</p><p>“<em> A lot </em> of time. I love you both so much that I wanted to tie you both down to me. I wanted Harry to marry Ginny. I wanted you to marry me. And then there’d be no excuse for you to not come to the Burrow for Christmases every year, no other families to divide your attention from me. Because I couldn’t imagine a Christmas without you. I still can’t, sometimes, even though it’s — it’s happening <em> right in front of me </em>, and it’s every second as awful as I thought. Losing Harry to Malfoy and you to — Parkinson —”</p><p>“You’re not losing us,” Hermione said numbly.</p><p>“I <em> know </em> . But it sure feels like it. I’m not like you two. I can’t just go from spending days doing everything together to — to hiding behind my back, doing things without me. Some days it feels so bad I <em> wish </em> we were still <em> back there </em>, in that terrible tent, and then I’d feel awful for days for even thinking that.”</p><p>Hermione took his hands, his big, freckled hands, those hands that had brandished themselves in front of Bellatrix, pleading to Bellatrix to take him and not Hermione. She took those hands into hers and kissed them. “Ron. I love you. I will always love you. And I’m so sorry for hiding from you. But you understand how your expectations can hurt us. So I promise to keep nothing from you from now on, if you promise to — try to understand? Can you do that? I don’t mean to sound patronizing. I just — I can help —”</p><p>“I will,” Ron said laughing, and Hermione believed him.</p><p> </p><p>Pansy avoided Hermione the next few days. She didn’t even come to the library. McGonagall had reopened the library the day after it had mended itself, so the library now was constantly filled with students from the morning until the evening, when Madam Pince locked it up officially for the night. Still, Hermione sat in her sturdy wooden chair at their table, hoping Pansy would show up. She caught herself looking at the door, too often meeting Draco’s sympathetic gaze instead, and wanted to scream. Sympathy, from <em> Draco Malfoy </em>. She must have looked pathetic.</p><p>But a week later, she’d looked at the entrance to the library, and caught Pansy’s eye. Pansy had her gaze lowered. But walked toward them, and took her chair.</p><p>“Glad you’re back,” Harry said. Ron nodded curtly too, still uncomfortable but clearly trying. Hermione nodded, smiling, before going back to her book.</p><p>“The section on the library is back,” Draco broke in later that evening. He’d been reading <em> Hogwarts, A History </em>.</p><p>Hermione leaned over to look. “Oh. It’s much longer than it used to be.” There were several pages on it now, pages on past librarians and a whole section on how new books were selected.</p><p>“Is that your name I see?” Harry asked. He’d also leaned in to look. Hermione squinted. Sure enough, in the last section under <em> Library Reconstruction (1999) </em> was all of their names, listed as major contributors to the renovation.</p><p>“How does that even work?” Hermione asked.</p><p>“Maybe the library’s the real author of the book,” Ron said in his spookiest voice. They laughed, but Hermione couldn’t help but believe that it was true, as ridiculous as the theory was. She swiped a finger across the top of the desk. It came up dustless. But as she looked back down at the wood grain, whorls of mahogany like swirls of dust, she thought she saw the library looking back at her.</p><p> </p><p>They left when the library closed for the night. Hermione caught Pansy by the sleeve before she could break off toward the Slytherin dorms. “Wait,” Hermione said, “Want to go back to mine?”</p><p>She stopped. “Why?” she asked coolly.</p><p>Hermione flushed. “I’ve — I’ve got something to show you,” Hermione said quickly, an obvious fabrication .</p><p>“Is that so?” Pansy said, smirking a little, “Alright then, I suppose I could.” Hermione’s heart leapt.</p><p>When they got back to the room, Hermione rifled around nervously, looking for something to show. She ended up handing Pansy a Chocolate Frog card of Circe. “Here,” she said, blushing furiously. “It reminded me of you.”</p><p>Pansy held the card in her hand, tilted it back and forth and watched Circe wink. “You think I’m a Greek witch who turns men into pigs.”</p><p>“Would you rather her or Beatrix Bloxam?” Hermione insisted a little petulantly. Beatrix Bloxam was a witch who had written a series of children’s books that caused so much nausea and vomiting that they were banned. Hermione regularly considered ousting her from her deck of Only Powerful Witches.</p><p>Pansy shuddered. She set the card down, and said plainly, “Come on. I know you’ve something to say to me. So say it.”</p><p>“Alright,” Hermione said. “I’m just — I can’t believe you’ve hid that you’re half-blood for so long. I kind of wanted to talk about that. If you’d be comfortable.”</p><p>Pansy shrugged, looking bored. It made Hermione uncomfortable; it told her that Pansy was trying to hide something. But Pansy continued, “My mom’s Chinese. She grew up in China. The records aren’t as easy to get there as they are here. So no one bothered to doubt my father’s word.”</p><p>“I — I had no idea you were even half-Chinese,” Hermione said, eyes widening.</p><p>Pansy looked at her, her face like smooth glass. And then she cracked, smirking a little. “It’s easier to pretend to be someone you’re not when you don’t have different written all over your face.” She caressed Hermione’s cheek.</p><p>Hermione blushed. She had never thought of hiding anything about herself before, certainly not something as big as half her cultural heritage. The Sorting Hat had really gotten her right, she thought. She’d never felt more like a Gryffindor than right this moment. Even if she hadn’t got Harry’s boldness or Ron’s hot temper, even if she cried whenever anyone made fun of her hair or whenever a cat looked sad for even five minutes, she never denied who she was. And then she felt that old determination welling within her again. <em> Nobody </em> should have to hide who they really were. She was going to convince Pansy of that. She had to.</p><p>Hermione pushed Pansy onto the bed so that she was sitting with her legs falling off the side. And then Hermione crawled in between her legs, and said, “I want you to put that lipstick on me again.”</p><p>Pansy’s perfect red lips quirked up. She <em> Accio </em>’d the tube from her bag and twisted it up. She cradled Hermione’s face in her hand, tilting it up so that Hermione was staring up at her long, sooty lashes, her dark eyes. And then she swiped the rouge carefully across Hermione’s lips.</p><p>Hermione brought two fingers to her lips, feeling the soft stickiness of them. She imagined what she looked like with Pansy’s red lips, and fancied herself a more strong-willed, confident version of herself. Maybe herself in ten years. Maybe as the Minister of Magic. And then she asked Pansy if she could kiss her.</p><p>Pansy stilled, hand still holding the tube, hovered above the bed. And then she gave Hermione the smallest of nods. Hermione surged up, capturing her lips with hers, pushing Pansy back onto her quilt. She captured Pansy’s right hand in hers, pushing it above their heads, as Pansy’s mouth opened under hers, sweeter than she’d ever imagined, leaving her feeling deliriously hopeful. Gasping, Pansy’s left hand snaked under her skirt and palmed her arse over her panties. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel herself getting wet. She moaned, moved from Pansy’s mouth down to her neck, her collar, her chest, leaving a trail of rouge. Pansy whimpered, trying to grind up against her as Hermione straddled her hips. “You’re so hot,” Hermione murmured in the space between Pansy’s breasts.</p><p>Pansy laughed at her after when she’d had to stand in front of her mirror and wipe off the lipstick all over her face. “Maybe next time I’ll teach you the anti-smearing charm,” she teased.</p><p>“Nah,” Hermione grinned, looking back at where Pansy laid in a naked sprawl on her bed, smears of rouge trailing down her throat, “I think it looks better on you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay all done!! This is the longest thing I've ever written, so I'm pretty happy I actually finished it 😂</p><p>I looked at these <a href="https://fw00shy.tumblr.com/tagged/libraries">beautiful library pics</a> for inspo when writing this. Gosh, libraries can really be so beautiful. 💛 I hope you enjoyed reading!</p>
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